Jewel and Flame
by Anna Denethorion
Summary: Èowyn rides to Minas Tirith in disguise as a man. What happens from there? Will she go for Faramir or Aragorn? Story better than summary. Please R&R. FINALLY UPDATED
1. The Great Battle

**I**

My uncle's voice rose above the clamor of orcs and Grond. His voice soared and reached all the six thousand Riders there, anticipating the moment of battle. Merry, who was infront of me, shivered and he reached for my hand.

"Are you afraid, Lady?" he whispered.

"None that I can feel, Merry," I whispered back. "Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends."

"And those you have yet to come our way," Merry said and gave a wry chuckle. I laughed too, though I felt sapped of my emotions.

What if my uncle died on this battle field--may the grace of the Valar prevent it--thinking that his beloved niece was back in Edoras? What if Éomer died right before my eyes? I thought about Aragorn. How would he react if someone brought news of my death to him? Will he ever be the High King of Gondor? It was all too much for me. I wondered if this was a good decision.

"Do you think," I asked Merry, "that my coming here was a good choice?"

"Yes, Lady," Merry said. "A very good choice indeed."

"Forth, and fear no darkness!" Uncle Theoden cried. "Arise. Arise, Riders of Theoden. Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered. A sword day... a red day... ere the sun rises!"

"Whatever happens," I told Merry, "stay with me. I will take care of you."

"Ride now! Ride now! Ride. Ride for ruin and the world's ending!" Uncle Theoden shouted. "Death!"

"Death!" we cried, thrusting our swords into the air. The sound was overwhelming. In my heart, I felt a new courage. Courage that I have never felt before. We _will _defeat this Darkness and we _will _emerge victor.

"Death!" Uncle Theoden shouted.

"Death!"

"Forth Eorlingas!" Uncle Theoden cried and we charged down the slopes. Horns trumpeted, joining the din. The ground shook and trembled.

Arrows sailed through the air above us. A man fell down beside me, crushed by the wave of hooves. I winced as I narrowly missed an arrow, no doubt splashed with the dark poison of Sauron. More men fell down by me.

The wave of Riders rushed onto the orcs. Dark orc blood splashed onto my horse's flank as we trampled him to his doom.

"Lady!" Merry cried. "Watch out!" He swung his sharp dirk and a head flew past us.

"Well done, squire of Rohan!" I said as I caught an orc in the throat.

The next thing I knew, oliphaunts appeared. I gasped at the sight of them.

"Aim for their heads!" a familiar voice shouted. I turned. At least I knew that Èomer was safe. Where was Uncle Theoden? There was no time to look. Merry took hold of the reins, which had slackened in my hands, and guided my horse. We dodged the crushing steps of the oliphaunts and the thorns tied to their feet.

A Rider got swept up with the spikes tied between their tusks. His body was thrown around and mangled before the oliphaunt threw him back into the thick of the battle.

_Oh Eru, let that not be my fate_, I thought and slashed the foot of the massive beast.

"Lady! Look ou--!" Merry's warning was stopped short as our horse toppled over. My world was plunged into darkness.

-

When I awoke, Merry was nowhere to be seen.

"Merry?" I called, my voice lost somewhere within me.

I turned and saw a small but upright figure rush toward the gates of Minas Tirith.

"Merry!" I shouted. I thought I shouted but my voice seemed so distant to me. Minas Tirith was burning. No doubt the little Halfling wanted to fine Pippin. I ran, dodging orcs. My armor seemed to weigh me down.

_"A suit of armor is a man's best friend in battle, Èowyn." It was my father talking to me. He patted his heavy Rohirric armor and picked me up."Soon, your brother will be riding and fighting just like me."_

_"Can I come too?" I giggled. I kissed Father on the cheek._

_"You may," Father laughed. "You may."_

_He died the next day. _

I burst through the gates of Minas Tirith just as the soldiers of Gondor shut them. I tripped and my chin slammed onto the stony ground. My head felt like I was walking on thin air, but this was not a time to faint.

"_Gandalf!_" a small but loud voice was saying. "Where is Gandalf? Mithrandir? Do you know where Gandalf is?"

I walked toward the source of the voice. Sure enough, there stood Peregrin Took, all hysterical in his black-and-silver uniform. He saw me.

"Do you know where Gandalf is, good Horse-lord?" he asked.

"Pippin," I said, laughing a little. "Do you not know me? I am Èowyn!"

Pippin squinted and cried. "Èowyn! Thank goodness it's you! Lord Denethor is burning Faramir alive!"

"_Who?_" I asked, confused.

"The Steward is burning the captain alive!" Pippin said. "They all think the captain is dead but he isn't. Oh Èowyn! You _have _to do something!" Pippin was close to tears.

"Where is this Steward you speak of?" said I.

Pippin pointed up the road whence he came. "Up there. Climb until you reach the top."

"Go find Gandalf, Pippin," I urged him. "Quickly."

Pippin nodded and he ran, wiping tears away with his grubby hands.

I was not sure who was this Steward was, nor this captain. But I felt like I should help an innocent life. I ran as fast as my weary feet would let me go.

Finally, I reached the top of Minas Tirith. Smoke from Pelennor Fields scorced the air. I could smell oil. Lot's of oil. Oh Eru, let me not too late.

I opened the doors. There, a figure underneath heavy coverlets lay on a bed of wood. Nay, a _pyre_. It was a pyre. Pippin was right. An old man was standing on the pyre.

"Set a fire to our flesh," said the old man.

"No!" I cried, my voice seemed so loud to me. "He is still alive! Do not kill him!"

But it was too late. The assistants, standing around like a group of thick-headed Harads, kissed the torch to the wood. The smell of burning wood filled my nose.

"Do you not get it!" I cried, running toward the pyre. Now, I could smell singed hair and clothing. I pulled my helmet off for it was annoying me. "He is still alive! _Do not burn him!_" What _is _it with these Gondorians? Without thinking I reached into the flames and pulled the young manoff the pyre.He was heavy. I lost my balance and he ended up on the floor under me. His eyes opened a little and I got a shock of pale blue eyes. His lips parted a little. The old man's face turned red with rage.

"Do not take him from me!" he shouted. He jumped from the pyre and grabbed me by my hair. "Do not take him from me!" he repeated, pulling my face up to his. I could smell pipeweed on his breath. "Do you not get it? The West will burn with the new power that is rising. None will escape it. It will come like wild fire. It will burn down all that oppose it!" He turned to the assistants. "Now we shall all burn!"

A new voice reached us. "Authority is not given to you, steward, to order the hour of your death!" It was Gandalf! Pippin had found Gandalf.

"You fools," the Steward said. "We will all burn. But I will not wait for them to burn me later. I will burn now, within my house." With that, the steward jumped back into the flames and with a great cry, disappeared into the sea of fire.

-

I turned back to the young man on the floor. His hair was singed, but it still had it's red-gold color. There was a slight burn on the left side of his neck that stretched to his left temple. I think he tried to support himself with his hands but was too weak. I put my helmet back on, tucking the hair into it.

"Take him to the House of Healing," Gandalf said. "What he needs now is a good rest, or die, if that be his doom."

_Uncle Theoden! _I jumped. I had forgotten about Uncle Theoden. I ran and ran down the seven levels of the White City. As I ran, I thought about Aragorn. Where was Aragorn? Had he really died, treading the Paths of the Dead as Brego had done? I remembered how his jewel, given to him by his elf-maiden, rested gently against his chest. How he had smiled at me at Dunharrow. I love him beyond compare.

Somehow, I managed to convince the soldiers to open the gate. They opened it a crack, just enough for me to slip through.

And the next sight I saw filled me with despair.

Uncle Theoden was beingmauled by a Nazgul.

"Feast on his flesh," an acidic voice hissed.

I knew that voice. It was the Witch-King of Angmar.

I rushed between Uncle Theoden and the Nazgul. I drew my sword and picked up a wooden buckler. "I will kill you if you touch him," I hissed. I tried to keep my voice steady and equally acidic.

"Do not come between a Nazgul and its prey," the Witch-King snarled.

The fell beast opened it's mouth and was ready to snap my head off, I warrant, when I brought my sword down onto it's neck. With one chop, the head fell off, clean. The Witch-King tipped over.

The Witch-King stood up. He walked toward me. My mouth tasted of copper. In his left hand, he had a mace. He swung the mace. I dodged. He swung it again. I dodged and a wild display of fireworks appeared before me. The buckler shattered and my arm exploded with pain. I cradled it at my side. The Witch-King came to me. He picked me up by the neck. I felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets. "Fool," the Witch-King snarled. "No man can kill--" His voice was broken when someone stabbed him in the back. It was Merry! Good old Merry!

The Witch-King was on his knees and at my mercy now. Despite my pain, I stood up and pulled my helmet off. "I am no man!" I cried. "I am Èowyn, daughter of Èomund!" I stabbed him. He shriveled up and with a wild whistling sound, disappeared into the wind.

I was tired. I was gasping with pain. My world spun wildly with pain and I was plunged headlong into darkness.

* * *

A/N: This idea came an hour after me watching _The Return of the King_, deleting _Faramir of the Golden Hall_, polishing off a bag of Frito-Lays, and surfing around Please review and keep checking for updates. Love, Anna. 


	2. The Lord Faramir

**II**

So the men are gone. That is all I know of the war.

I have not left my apartment ever since the battle. My arm is now in a sling. I am not in great pain, it is now a slow throb in my arm. Whenever I asked the women, "What of the war?" They will answer after a lengthy silence, "Rest, Lady. You are still weak." And they will leave.

Merry, who was three doors down from me, was not permitted to meet with me. He is still ill, they tell me. I could not believe the stout-hearted, and merry Merry could be ill all this while. So far, we have only met once.

One afternoon, I had enough of it.

The House of Healing had women buzzing around, sick soldiers lying in great pain. I passed a particularly young lad. He had sad and pale blue eyes. He looked at me pleadingly, as if to say, "Stop the pain! Make it stop!" His gold hair told me he was a Rider of Rohan. His breathing sounded strained and labored. His body was jerked by constant spasms. A woman walked over and touched the young lad's forehead. She sighed and suddenly, the breathing stopped. The woman closed the Rider's eyes and pulled the coverlet over the lad's face.

I closed my eyes and turned away.

The Warden was bending over a Gondorian soldier. The soldier's head was bound in a bandage, his eyes were misty with pain.

"A moment with you, Master Warden?" I asked.

The Warden turned, startled. He looked from the soldier, to me, back to the soldier, and back to me again. He nodded and wiped his damp hands on his robe. We moved to a quieter corner of the Hall.

"Sir," said I, entering my practiced speech, "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."

"Lady," he said gravely and firmly, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for several days, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back."

Usually, I would have obliged. I have always been a particularly obedient child, Éomer was the rebellious one. My aunt called him the Headache and Theodred would always keep a constant eye on Éomer. Theoden King cared not for us two children of Éomund. Grima Wormtongue tired to convince Uncle Theoden to drive Éomer out, but he didn't. Uncle Theoden had that much sense in his head back then.

"I am healed," I argued, "healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease."

The Warden looked skeptically at my arm. It was hanging limp and lifeless and useless in its sling. So I continued:

"But I shall sicken anew, of there is naught that I can do. Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing."

"There are no tidings," the Warden said, shaking his head sadly. "Save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief. A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus in Gondor now, though it was so, if the old tales be true. But for long years we Healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we should still have enough to do without them: the world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them."

It occured to me that these Gondorians seemed to take delight in lengthy speech.

The Warden strode with his limped gait to the eastward window. I followed and looked longingly at the war that lay in that direction.

"It needs," said I, "but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden. And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies?" To that he had no answer, so I continued: "And it is not always good to be healed in body. ot is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter."

I turned to the East again. _My window faces not East_, I thought sadly.

"Is there no deed to do?" I asked him. He was silent again, this time the Warden looked gimmer. In exasperation, I cried out, "Who commands in this city?"

The Warden thought for a minute. With a puzzled frown, he said, "I do not rightly know. Such things are not my care. There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Hurin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But..." he considered again. "But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."

I knew who the first two he mentioned: Éomer and Aragorn. I thought how splendid they must look in their armor. _They _were the lucky ones, being able to ride East, to fight. The name Faramir however... It seemed toring a small bellin my brain, but I knew not where I had heard it. It seemed familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. It was a nice name, anyhow.

"Where can I find him?" said I. _A foolish question_, I told myself. _He must be out with the other Lords, riding to battle and to destruction. He will not be in the City as I am and I shall be confined to my room ere the day is done. _

To my surprise, the Warden replied, "In this House, Lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know--"

I narrowed my eyes. "Will you not bring me to him?" I asked icily. "Then, you will know."

-

I had learned that the House of Healing had a garden, though I have not visited it yet. Merry said he has been there once, but the woman Ioreth found him and bid him return to his aparment.

The door to the garden was made out of oak-wood. Worms had left their mark on it. The brown paint was peeling, revealing a tan wood underneath it.

The Warden pushed the door opened and sunlight blasted into my face. It took my eyes a moment to adjust. There was a young man, tall and slim, looking to the East, his brow creased in worry.

The young man, hearing us enter, turned and I stifled a gasp. It was him, the one I had saved from the fiery pyre. From the mad old windbag who wanted to roast him like a hart. But I kept my mouth shut, thinking that he would deem me mad if I told him what had happened.

"My lord," the Warden said, bowing low, "here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."

A cloud passed over the Sun and I could see his face more clearly. Yes, it was him. He still had his red-gold hair and shockingly pale blue eyes (when I saw his eyes, I thought of the poor young Rider who had died not an hour pass). It was not a handsome face. It was soft and quiet and wise, not like the hardened face of Gimli and Éomer and Aragorn.

"Do not misunderstand him, Lord," I said. "It is not the lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But, alas, I have not died, and the battle still goes on."

The Lord Faramir nodded at the Warden, a sign for him to depart.

"What would you have me do, Lady?" he asked. Something stirred in his eyes (I still could not believe a man of the City of Numenor had such Rohirric features). Lord Faramir added, "I also am a prisoner of the Healers."

_Well then_, thought I. _If you cannot command the Warden and bid him release you, then how will you have him release me? _I wanted to should this at him, but I didn't. Something in his face made me stop. I saw pity; and another emotion. But there was something in his eyes, like a stone wall. No one could look in and see what went on behind that stone wall. There was lines of grief and pain in his young face. Yes, I could tell he was a seasoned warrior; but warriors--at least not in Rohan--had such gentleness in their actions and speech. Suddenly, I admired and respected him as much as I did Lord Aragorn.

"What do you wish?" he asked me. "If it lies within my power, I will do it."

Finally, I found my voice. "I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go."

These words sounded utterly foreign to me. They sounded like a restless child's ceaseless whining.

"I myself am in the Warden's keeping. Nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City."

_Ha! _I thought. _I thought so!_

Lord Faramir continued quietly and with grave respect: "But had I done so, I should listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need."

I said sharply, "I do not desire healing. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Theoden King, for he died and has both honor and peace."

The pity was replaced with amusment.

"It is too late, Lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength," he said. "But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the Healer commanded. You and I, we must endure the hours of waiting."

I wished he did not say that. Suddenly, all honor of death in battle had vanished into thin air. I struggled to keep tears back but a tear rolled down my cheek. My head, which I had kept high, drooped a little.

"But the Healers would have me lie abed for seven days," I said quietly. "And my window does not look eastward." How childish my voice sounded! Why was I trifling the Steward with such small matters?

"Your window does not look eastward?" Faramir said, laughing a little. "That can be amended, lady. In this I will command the Warden." I was filled with gratitude. "If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the Sun, as you will; and you shall look East, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, also looking East. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me."

I looked up and looked him in the eye. He held my gaze.

"How should I ease your care, my lord?" I asked. "And I do not desire the speech of living men."

All amusment in his voice vanished. "Would you have my plain answer?" he asked solemnly.

"I would."

His voice rose and he said passionately, "Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flowers nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."

The last time someone said something like this to me, was back in Edoras. Grima Wormtongue was calling me "a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill". That was merely slimy flattery, but this one had a request in it. A request, I had learned, could be denied and accepted. My mind twirled with emotion. No, I will not walk with you. I will spend my days in my apartment, thinking of Lord Aragorn's return. Yes, I will walk with you. I will talk with you.

Finally, I said, "Alas, not me, lord! Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle." I sighed. "But I thank you for this, at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." I curtsied and returned to my room.

-

That evening, a messanger came. He was a young lad of about ten.

"Who are you?" I asked him wearily.

"Bergil, Lady," he said. He had a merry face, his eyes winged with laughter-lines. No doubt he inherited his features from his father. "The Lord Merry and the Lord Faramir awaits you in the garden."

_So, Merry has risen from his chambers_. I was stricken with silence. The lad Bergil waited patiently. His eyes eyed my sword that slew the Witch-King.

"Thank the lords for their invitation," I said finally, "but tell them I will not come. And send my apologies."

I poured Bergil a mug of ale and after he had drunk it, I sent him on his way.

-

The next morning, I felt guilty.

No longer fearing that the women will send me back to my chamber, I went to the garden.

Faramir was there, just as he said he would. He was thinking and facing East.

"Lord?" I said.

He turned. And he smiled at me. It was a small smile and it cracked his face from disuse.

"I am sorry I did not come yesterday evening," said I, moving over to him.

"All is forgiven, Lady," Faramir said. He was silent again. "Merry is a good companion."

"I know," I replied, thinking about how we waited at the front lines of battle, waiting for my uncle to signal the charge.

"Come, Éowyn," Faramir said. "May I call you Éowyn?" I nodded. "Let go under that tree, shall we?"

We sat underneath the green canopy of leaves, breathing the fresh air. I kicked off my boots and stretched my legs out. It felt good. Faramir laughed. I laughed, too.

"When I was younger," said I, "my cousin Theodred would scold me endlessly for doing it. 'It isn't ladylike for women of the court to do such!' he would say. His mother had died, leaving me as Lady of the Golden Hall. Éomer, my brother, was never at home. He was always riding out and slaying orcs that passed through our lands."

"What is it like," Faramir asked softly, "Rohan?"

I was silent. For a moment, I could see gentle rolling hills covered with a diversity of flowers. The children would run, screaming, up and down the streets of Edoras. The Rohirric standard would flutter in the wild breeze that swept down from the mountains.

"Rohan," I said, finally, "is a land stained with the blood of innocent lives."

Faramir muttered, "How same are the lands everywhere!"

* * *

A/N: I guess this chapter is closer to Tolkien's _The Steward and the King _chapter. Please review! L. Anna x 


	3. Tidings

**III**

The Lord Faramir has been a good companion. He tells me of many things I know not of. He is gentle, and wise. And everyday, I tell him of what I shall do when I become queen. Lord_ Aragorn's _queen. Faramir would politely let me finish and then would change the subject. Perhaps it sounds rude to talk about such things infront of another man.

Five days after I met him; we stood upon the walls of the City. No news of battle have reached our ears, not even the simplest rumor. All hearts have darknened. The weather, too, was no longer bright. The Sun has been shrouded by a dark cloud, whether it is of this earth we do not know. The wind that had sprung last night was blowing now from the North, and it was rising; but the lands about looked grey and drear.

Merry was not with us. He had caught a bad cold and a cut on his knee was infected.

I shivered.

"Are you cold?" Faramir asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

Faramir went inside for a while and returned with a beautiful blue mantle that had stars around the hem and throat.

"This belonged to my mother," Faramir said, his voice cracking. "Finduilas of Dol Amroth."

I stared at it. I looked at him. "I cannot wear this," I said. "It is much to great an honor."

Faramir smiled and I accepted it.

It was warm and smelt of lavendar. But despite this, I shivered again and I looked northward.

"What do you look for, Éowyn?" said Faramir.

"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?" I asked. He nodded. "And must he not now be come thither? It is seven days since he rode away."

"Seven days," said he. "But think not ill of me, if I say to you: they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know. Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found."

Though I knew what he spoke of, I whispered, "Lose what you have found, Lord?" I looked at him gravely. "I know not what in thses days you have found that you could lose," I continued. "But come, my friend," here he seemed irked, "let us not speak of it! Let us not speak at all. I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet,but whether there is any light behind me," I sighed, "I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom."

Faramir was silent. He, too, looked northward. Finally, he said, "Yes, we wait for the stroke of doom."

We fell silent; and it seemed to us as we stood upon the wall that the wind died.

"It's so quiet," he commented.

True. There was not a sound to be heard but his voice, which was so loud, though he spoke softly. There was neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor the rustle of leaf, nor our own breath that could be heard.

It seemed like time had frozen.

I felt a warm sensation around my hand but I cared not to look at it. I kept looking northward, to the Black Gate.

Suddenly, the walls of the City quivered with a tremor.

"It reminds me of Numenor," Faramir said. He sounded surprised that he had spoken.

"Of Numenor!" I said.

"Yes," said Faramir, "of the land of Westernesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills," _Rohan_, I thought and shivered, "and coming on, darkness unescapable. I often dream of it."

I felt afraid. "Then you think that the Darkness is coming?" I cried. "Darkness Unescapable?" I drew close to him. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. We stood silent for a while.

"No," he said and looked into my face. "It was but a picture in my mind. I do not know what is happening." He sighed. "The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny! Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

He kissed my brow. Even when he turned back northward, I could still feel the cool pressure of his lips. Why was I shaking? It was not from fear, nor the chill.

A new wind rose and blew. Our hair streamed out mingling in the air. Suddenly, the Shadow departed and the Sun was unveiled; and the waters of the Anduin shone like silver, and in all the houses of the City, a thousand voices rose as people sang for the joy that welled in their hearts.

It was a wonderful sight.

I parted my lips and something tightened over my hand. I looked down and saw that our hands were joined.

-

"Lady."

It was Bergil, the kind lad who had brought me a message a few days back.

"Yes?" I asked, putting my hair-brush down. The wind had tangled my unruly curls. Theodred often said that my affliction was my beauty. I never understood what that meant.

"Lady, the Lord Faramir bid me come and tell you that a great Eagle has flown from the East," Bergil said, his voice rising. "The Eagle bore tidings beyond hope from the Lord of the West. The Lord Faramir bade me bring this to you."

He handed me a piece of parchment. I thanked him. He turned to leave, then hesitated.

"Lady?" he asked. "Is it true that it was you who slew the Witch-King, the greatest of the Nine?"

"It is true," I said, scanning the parchment.

Bergil smiled, bowed, and went out of my chambers.

Faramir had sent me a letter. The page was covered in his firm yet graceful hand. The letter went:

_Dear Éowyn:_

_An Eagle flew over Minas Tirith at noon, today. He bore tidings of the war. You were in your chambers when this happened. The Eagle cried:_

_-_

_Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Arnor,_

_for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,_

_and the Dark Tower is thrown down._

_Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,_

_for your watch hath not been in vain,_

_and the Black Gate is broken,_

_and your King hath passed through,_

_and he is victorious._

_Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,_

_for your King shall come again,_

_and he shall dwell among you_

_all the days of your life._

_And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed, _

_and he shall plant it in the high places,_

_and the City shall be blessed._

_Sing all ye people!_

_-_

_You have not heard such sound, Éowyn. The voices of the people rose and fell as they sang for joy. I only a hint of sadness because you weren't there when the tidings first came._

_I will be in the garden this evening, and the next, waiting for you._

_Faramir_

So the war has ended. The West is free. I turned East and smiled, tears of joy gently rolling down my cheeks.

* * *

A/N: Thank you good people for your reviews (though there be only four right now...) I apologize for the "it's" and "its". My mind is in such a fast whirl that I don't pay much attention to the grammar sometimes. I'll try to improve. 

Misc.: I'm moving. Our computer will be packed away for a while, so I'll try to complete this story as soon as possible so don't be surprised if I update once everyday.

L. Anna xo


	4. Under the Sunlit Sky

**IIII**

The days that followed the victory were golden, and Spring and Summer joined and made revel together in the fields of Gondor. Tidings now came by swift riders from Cair Andros of all that was done, and the City made ready for the coming of the King.

I could not get it into my mind that Aragorn was going to be High King, as Éomer is going to be, too. These men, a Ranger and a Marshal, seemed to be suddenly catapulted into a position that required much discipline and responsibility.

Merry was summoned a while back. He rode away with the wains that took store of goods to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros; but Faramir did not go, for now being healed he took upon him his authority and the Stewardship, although it was only for a little while, and his duty was to prepare for the one who should replace him. It mystified me why I felt so happy that Faramir was still within the City.

-

A messenger, a dusty young man with green eyes, came to me. When I saw him, I thought: _Perhaps Aragorn is going to send word for me! _

I thought I knew what the messenger was going to say, but I was mistaken. Instead, he said:

"Lady, your brother Éomer, Third Marshal of the Mark, begs you to come to the field of Cormallen. He wishes to rejoice with you in this joyous time."

I turned away from the messanger. My mind was tossing. This was no message from the Lord Aragorn. Yes, I missed Éomer, too. But somehow, I felt that I should stay in Minas Tirith. Oh sweet Eru, what should I do? I turned back to the messenger.

"Tell Éomer that I shall not come, though I greatly desire it," I said. "Say that I will meet him again, soon."

The messanger bowed low and turned and left without another word whatsoever.

-

As soon as the messenger left, I had an empty, aching feeling within me. I lay on my bed for the rest of the day. When the women came in to tend to me, they were frightened. And they called the Warden.

"My lady!" he exclaimed when he saw me. "What ails you?"

"Naught that you know of," I whispered. "Except that I do not know whom I love and what I should do."

He gave a distressed moan and ran off to find somebody.

-

"The Steward calls for you," the woman Ioreth said. "He waits for you upon the walls of the City."

I wanted to refuse, but I knew I could not. No, I _could _not. So I said: "Lady. Will you help me make ready to meet the Steward? I do not wish to meet him in this attire."

Ioreth picked a dress for me and combed my unruly curls. Then, I went to him. Faramir was standing there, the sunlight in his hair. I could help but think how wonderful his profile looked. And then, I called to him.

"Faramir," I said.

He turned and he said to me: "Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?"

I bit my lip and said: "Do you not know?"

"Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know." His lips had a hint of a smile but his eyes were sad.

My temper flared like a leaping candle-flame. I cried, "I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!"

Faramir folded his arms. "Then if you will have it so, Lady. You do not go, because only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, Elendil's heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy. Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them." I nearly cried at the truth of his words. Then, the most unexpected came out: "Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?"

I stared, dumbfounded at what the Steward had just said. Finally, I answered bitterly, "I wished to be loved by another. But I desire no man's pity."

The smile came through. "That I know," Faramir said. "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was... he was _high _and _puissant_, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle"--I stared at the ground--"look at me Éowyn!"

And I looked at him, long and steady; and Faramir said: "Do not scorn pity that is a gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn! But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, _still _I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?"

A breeze played with our hair. I saw him staring at me, waiting for him to laugh. But he was serious. He had meant every word of it. I looked into his eyes and suddenly, I understood it. The empty feeling subsided and I was all warm inside. The Sun peeked from behind a cloud.

"I stand in Minas Arnor, the Tower of the Sun!" I said; "and behold! the Shadow has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren." I looked at Faramir again. He was smiling. It was a beautiful smile and it was _a _smile, not a smile of pity. "No longer do I desire to be a queen," I whispered.

Faramir laughed and laughed. "That is well," he said; "for I am not a king. Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

There was a sudden ache in me. "Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?" I asked. "And would you have your proud folk say of you: 'There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman in the race of Numenor to choose?'"

I watched his face.

"I would," Faramir cried.

He took me in his arms and kissed me under the sunlit sky. He did not seem to care that we stood high upon the walls in the sight of many. I knew many saw us and the light that shone about us as he released me. We went down from the walls, hand in hand, to the House of Healing.

The Warden was smiling when he saw me. Faramir said: "Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed."

The Warden laughed merrily. "Then I release her from my charge and bid her farewell, and may she suffer never hurt nor sickness again. I commend her to the care of the Steward of the City, until her brother returns."

I hastily said: "Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would remain. For this House has become to me of all that dwellings the most blessed."

Once, Theodred said to me: "In our lifetime, each one must tread a difficult path. It is a slow and rocky road. No one knows where it leads to. But when we finish that path, we finish in triumph."

I have just finished that path. I have finished in triumph.

A/N: OH THANK GOODNESS THIS IS FINALLY UPDATED! I still have one more chapter to go: Aragorn's coronation. OMG how will Éowyn react when she sees her first love?


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